


The Saga of Ice

by Sad_Depressed_Girly



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Slow Burn, This is entirely sigurd centric, Topping from the Bottom, but it's not the most comfortable at first, there's no dub con. All parties are willing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sad_Depressed_Girly/pseuds/Sad_Depressed_Girly
Summary: Sigurd thinks, if he was the writer of his own sagas, he would describe himself as ice. A large block of it, the exact colour of his eyes. Made of sharp, clean edges.If he was the writer of his own sagas, he would describe his life as a series of events that completely shattered his block of ice; building it up slowly through the years, honing it, crafting it to it’s deceptively strong shape, only to shatter it once again.Perhaps it is a good thing he never plans on writing out his life.-------------------------------------------A look at the past, present, and future from Sigurd's perspective.
Relationships: Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson, Randvi/Sigurd Styrbjornson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 102





	The Saga of Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so a few things. This is a look into the mind of a man who has little to no attraction to woman, as he navigates a culture that doesn't understand that notion.
> 
> That is to say, it's a story about Sigurd, and in this story. He's gay. 
> 
> So I need to just lay down a few warnings. Small ones, because I don't feel that tags will work for this, but they might make some people uncomfortable.
> 
> There's a scene where Sigurd (who is gay, in this) has to perform a sexual act with a woman. He goes into it willingly, and both parties are loving and considerate of each other, and there's no dub-con. That being said, Sigurd isn't the most comfortable during the thing, and the story takes place entirely from his perspective, so that might trigger some. I promise I handled the scene with the utmost of care and tastefulness I could think of, but I'm a bisexual woman, so this is out of my depth a bit.
> 
> If I miss-stepped, please feel free to let me know. Or skip the scene (or even this story) entirely.
> 
> Other then that, there's a very brief mention of underage sex, and torture, but nothing explicit in the slightest and it all serves the story, I swear.
> 
> This is my longest fic to date, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm very proud of it, so I hope these warnings haven't scared you off, and you give this a chance. 
> 
> Thank you! - Girly

Sigurd thinks, if he was the writer of his own sagas, he would describe himself as ice. A large block of it, the exact colour of his eyes. Made of sharp, clean edges.

If he was the writer of his own sagas, he would describe his life as a series of events that completely shattered his block of ice; building it up slowly through the years, honing it, crafting it to it’s deceptively strong shape, only to shatter it once again.

Perhaps it is a good thing he never plans on writing out his life.

\--------------------

The first break in the ice happens when he’s but a child. It’s not a shattering, not quite yet, he’s still too young for that, but it’s a crack. It grows larger and larger until it almost splits him in two.

The shattering will come later.

But the crack starts to form early, when his father sits him down, almost four winters into his young life, and explains to him that he is to be “betrothed”

“What does that mean?”

“it means you will have a wife.”

“What if I don’t want a wife?” Sigurd doesn’t even know what a wife is, but he can already tell he doesn’t want it.

His father laughs at that, sudden and booming “Then you will not be the last man to think such things.” He says. It sounds like a joke, but Sigurd doesn’t get it. “But sometimes we must do things we don’t want, for the betterment of our clan. For the betterment of all Norse. Because alliances like these form peace.”

“So what is this wife then? When will I get it?”

His father chuckles again. “Not a ‘what’ little one. Not an ‘it’ but a ‘who’. A girl. You will be tied together when you both come of age.”

“I don’t want to be tied to a girl!” Sigurd yells. What a disgusting thought.

“Maybe not now, but your mind will change when you are older.” His father laughs again.

Sigurd doesn’t think so, but he stays silent anyway.

The Ice chips.

\----------------------

His betrothed, it turns out, isn’t even in the world yet. She hasn’t been born.

Rosta of the Wolf Clan is heavy with child, and Seers across Norway have all agreed, the babe will be born a girl. “Eivor” they named her.

The Wolf and Raven Clans are peaceful now. With Sigurd’s father and Varin both leading and having been friends since childhood.

But the peace is tenuous at best, and Sigurd and Eivor are to be the perfect match. The Seers have prophesied a strong bond. One that would have the Raven clan prosper beyond anyone’s dreams.

Or at least, that is what Styrbjorn tells an upset Sigurd. Trying to coddle, to sooth. He tells Sigurd that this marriage would make Sigurd a great Jarl, possibly even king one day.

But the only word running through Sigurd’s mind is “girl”

girl girl girl girl girl

Sigurd tries not to cry.

The Ice cracks. Big and deep and loud.

\---------------------

It shatters two months later.

Eivor is born just before the winter sets. Sigurd and his father go to visit the Wolf Clan as a sign of respect, and Rosta gently places Eivor in Sigurd’s small arms.

Sigurd wants to be disgusted with the lump. Just a bundle of loud crying and snot tightly wrapped in thick fabrics.

But then the creature opens it’s eyes. Blue like Sigurd’s but not the same shade. Not the colour of clean sharp ice, but of the rolling waves of an ocean.

There’s no lightning strike, no sudden thoughts of love. The thing is but a babe, and Sigurd is barely much older himself, but Sigurd feels a distinct connection. He knows, very suddenly, that the Seers were right. He is destined to be at this creature’s side.

He thinks he sees the reflection of a man in the mirror near him - He can’t make out his face but it is clean of any beard, his red hair falling to his chin - but Eivor reaches up with one soft little hand and distracts him with a joyful giggle.

When he looks back at the mirror, the man is gone.

Eivor, it turns out, was born a boy – not a girl, as was predicted – and for reasons Sigurd can’t explain, this fact elates him. He thinks he wouldn’t mind being betrothed to a boy.

The elation doesn’t last.

The betrothal is broken, and it is for the first time that Sigurd learns that something maybe wrong with him. Marriages between two boys is impossible, a man may choose to love and sleep with whomever he wishes but he must marry a wife, create heirs and continue the line.

Sigurd thinks of girls and feels sick. He thinks about boys and his heart does a little tumble. He thinks about Eivor and his father and words like “Marriage” and “Betrothed” and knows not to speak of any of this.

The Ice is shards on a cold, hard floor.

\---------------------

He dreams of the man. Blurry and unclear, and he can’t remember much when he wakes.

But Sigurd dreams of his strong figure, rigid and stoic, and his eyes. The only clear thing about him. Intense and blue, the exact shade of a block of ice.

The man stands beside a cloaked figure.

Ravens caw and in the distance, lightning strikes.

Sigurd wakes in a sweat.

\---------------------

He’s betrothed many times after that.

He’s pleasantly surprised to learn that betrothals aren’t nearly as binding as he had originally believed. Perhaps it is just due to his wild youth, but he takes every advantage. Severing ties with his future wives over the smallest of slights.

“I’m so happy you’re not a girl, Eivor.” he says while they’re building a cairn one day. Rosta, watching silent and protective behind them.

“What do you mean?” Eivor asks. At such a young age, his face expresses every emotion like the sun shines. Bright, unbound and easy to read for anyone who has eyes. Currently, it filters through at least five stages of confusion.

“If you were a girl, I would have to marry you, and then I would have to find a reason to not marry you, and then you wouldn’t like me very much.”

“Marry me?” Sigurd thinks it’s rather funny how that is the single piece of his words that Eivor’s latched onto.

“Oh yes. You and I were betrothed once you know.”

“We were?!” He’s so shocked by this new information that he not only drops the stone in his hand, but completely topples the, rather impressive, cairn they had almost finished. Then suddenly, he pauses. “We’re not betrothed anymore.”

Sigurd knows it’s a statement, it must be, but it almost sounds like a question.

“No, you are not a girl, remember?” He laughs while scrubbing at the peachy fuzz of Eivor’s head.

Eivor’s face starts doing it’s cycle of emotions again, but before he can move past frustration, Rosta’s voice calls out, slightly panicked.

“Children, it’s time to go!”

They hop on a horse – Eivor and Sigurd are young and small enough to ride on Rosta’s with her – and head back home. Behind them, far off in the distance, Sigurd thinks he sees men.

The Ice is splintered but whole.

\---------------------

He’s thirteen winters old. Walking through the forest with Dag, absentmindedly swinging a stick at the ground.

His cheek still stings, but the mark has faded at least.

“She really hit you hard.” Dag laughs “If it were me, I would have caught her wrist before she even had the chance.”

Normally, he would have laughed Dag’s boasting off, but today, he’s not in the mood. The last girl he was betrothed to had slapped him clear across the face, after he had told her, as gently as he could, that he could not love her. This time he didn’t make any excuses, it was clear as day that the girl was completely smitten on him. She deserved the truth.

It’s the disappointed anger in his father’s face he thinks of now. The look of betrayal thrown his way as yet another betrothal is severed and the girl's clan leaves the longhouse. Sigurd knows he can’t keep doing this. It’s only a matter of time before he’s roped into a marriage he can’t escape from.

He can feel the Ice shift. It sings mournfully, as if about to crack again.

Unthinkingly, he blurts. “I hate girls!”

Dag stops in his tracks and laughs at this sudden outburst. “With the way you’ve treated them, I’m surprised they don’t hate you back.”

He’s not wrong. Sigurd’s lost track of how many betrothals he’s gone through, and he’s spied letters on his father’s desk for more.

He has no idea why his father is so keen on marrying him off. But at least he won’t have to worry about it again in the near future. Tomorrow they will ride to Heillboer to visit the Wolf Clan. There’s no animosity between the clans, but that doesn’t mean old wounds should be picked at. There will be no talk of betrothals.

Now he turns to Dag. Heart hurting and mind bursting with thoughts he’s scared to voice.  
“I’m serious Dag. There’s nothing about girls that I find appealing. Not their looks, not their voices, and especially not their bodies.”

Dag just stares at him.

But Sigurd knows his best friend like he knows himself, and he expects Dag to laugh it off. Smack him in the shoulder and say something like “Oh you just haven’t found one that makes your blood boil yet!” before going off into a yet another boast about how many girls he, himself has laid with.

Only he doesn’t do any of those things.

He gently takes Sigurd’s hand, looks him straight in the eye and says, in all seriousness. “That’s alright, no girl deserves you anyway.”

Sigurd draws in a wet, shuddering breath and says “Don’t tell anyone Dag. Please.”

“I won’t Sigurd. I will take this secret with me to my grave.”

And he does.

A new layer of water coats the Ice. Filling in the cracks, and strengthening it. Just a bit.

\---------------------

He dreams of the man again. His face is clearer now, but Sigurd still can’t recognize him.

He stands behind another man who’s sitting on a stone, hair blonde and tied into a braid.

Odin, Sigurd suddenly realizes. He’s looking at Odin.

The red haired man bends down, and while his piercing eyes stare at Sigurd – like he’s looking right into his soul – bites Odin’s neck, drawing blood.

Odin tips his head back and moans, long and loud and with a jolt, Sigurd realizes he’s heard the sound before. Many times.

Has been the cau-

\--------------------

He startles awake, covered in sweat.

He feels a stickiness at the front of his breeches, gluing them to his skin in an uncomfortable way.

He feels shame.

\--------------------

Then Eivor goes from being his “Friend” to being his “Brother” through one night of blood, screams, and burning flames.

Sigurd holds Eivor’s small, bloody body in his trembling arms, and cries for help. Scared and panicked and not at all equipped for any of this.

A raven lands on his shoulder and Sigurd suddenly thinks of the strange man biting Odin’s neck.

The Ice trembles.

\--------------------

Eivor is inconsolable. Screaming and crying in Sigurd’s arms. His small neck covered in bandages, but the wound, miraculously, is mostly healed.

“You’ll never be my brother!” The boy screams.

“I’ll never see you as a brother! Never! Never Never Never!”

And Sigurd is crying too. As he holds onto Eivor’s thrashing, anguished body. He cries. – for the first time since he was just a babe – and Eivor continues on.

“Never Never Never Never Never...”

The Ice is a web of cracks, barely holding together.

\---------------------

Sigurd likes Randvi.

She’s wild and fun, and can climb almost as fast as he can. They spend their days together running and playing and pulling pranks on the local villagers.

In fact, his time with Randvi is just about the most fun Sigurd has had in a while. The only cloud cast upon them is that, for some reason, Sigurd can’t find Eivor anywhere.

He can’t shake the feeling that Eivor seems to be avoiding the two of them altogether. The times Sigurd has seen him in the same room as Randvi, all he did was scowl at the girl.

Sigurd resolves to ask him about it later. For now, he’s been called to his father’s chambers. He wonders if there’s a way he can end his and Randvi betrothal without losing the girl as a friend.

It’s never happened before - well, except with Eivor, and that doesn’t really count - But Randvi isn’t like any of the others, and Sigurd has hope.

The hope dies when he sees his father’s face.

Holding Sigurd’s hands, his father begs him. Talking words of peace, and how important this is for him, for the clan.

Sigurd doesn’t hear any of it, but he sees.

He sees his father crying, and it breaks him.

Sigurd has never seen his father cry before. Not even that faithful day when the Wolf Clan was destroyed.

Sigurd agrees to marry Randvi on his twenty-seventh winter, with his heart beating in his ears and his voice barely above a tremble.

Sigurd likes Randvi.

But he doesn’t love her.

The Ice shatters a second time.

\---------------------

The Stag Clan lives far, too far to plan many visits, so once the betrothal is set in stone, Sigurd is free to live his life and do as he pleases, for the most part.

He loses his virginity to a pretty stable hand with long blond hair and piercing eyes.

He can’t even recall the boy’s name.

He’s blissfully, mindlessly, roaringly drunk with Dag a few hours later. His best friend is oddly quiet the entire time.

They both know why, but neither acknowledges it.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Sigurd.”

Is all Dag says.

The Ice is jagged pieces. Sharp and fragile.

\---------------------

Eivor is a shining beam in foggy skies. Smiling and laughing and following Sigurd around like a lost little duck.

But Sigurd knows his thoughts are clouded by revenge. Kjotve hangs above their heads with every laugh, every smile, and Sigurd fears Eivor will let his anger lead him straight to the end of one of Kjotve’s axes.

So he spends most of his days training the younger boy.

Teaching him everything from hunting dear, to perfectly cleaving a man’s head with an axe.

He trains Eivor on every weapon, and they spar every morning. He ignores how Eivor’s body becomes defined with muscles. How he grows from the awkward, soft, little bird, to this lean, striking wolf of a young man.

He ignores how, when he calls Eivor “brother” the words ring hollow.

He can almost fool himself.

The Ice is building again, layer by layer.

\----------------------

Years later, he hears moaning coming from inside a barn, and peaks in to catch Eivor in loving embrace. He flees before he can make out what Eivor’s partner looks like. He doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to think about it.

The Ice forms a new crack. Long and deep and straight down the middle.

\------------------------

He still dreams of the man with red hair and icy eyes.

He’s old enough now to realize the man is him. Or at least looks like him if he were older still.

He wakes up and resigns himself to never shave his newly growing beard.

\-----------------------

He finds reprieve from his tumbled thoughts with raiding. The clan needs money, and Sigurd is good at this life.

Eivor is strong, and can hold his own while Sigurd is away. He pretends not see the hurt in the younger man’s eyes every time Sigurd leaves again.

He pretends to be happy when Eivor welcomes him with a “ _Brother_! You’re back!”

He pretends a lot of things these days.

But he’s no longer a child. Now a man of twenty-five winters, he has responsibilities. He feels his place as a future Jarl, and his wedding to Randvi looms ever closer.

He’s old enough now to acknowledge what he really feels for Eivor, and old enough to know it is selfish and one-sided. He _will_ be the brother Eivor needs. The family he so clearly yearns for.

He will be the son his father wants. The husband Randvi deserves, and one day, he will be the Jarl his clan will be proud of.

He thinks these things to himself, shoulders high, and back straight.

The Ice is strong and large and finely hued.

\------------------------

He’s twenty-seven and on the eve of his wedding, sitting beside Dag, and watching as Eivor sleeps the slumber of the well and truly drunk.

He has already come to terms with the wedding itself. Has had many years, and letters and visits with Randvi to know, Love aside. There’s is a good match.

Love aside. He thinks to himself, and almost laughs.

What he hasn’t, quite, managed to grapple with though, is what’s to happen after the wedding.

In truth, he didn’t think, until now, that this would be such an ordeal for him. He has always known that he feels nothing, sexually, for women, just as he has always known that one day, he would be, inevitably, married to a woman.

And one must consummate a marriage. As is tradition.

But as the words “Consummating” and “Woman” flow through his head in the same thought, he feels his stomach churn, and his blood run cold. He’s not even sure he’ll be able to get his cock hard for a woman. For any woman. Even one such as Randvi, whom he at least has some attachment to.

“Why don’t we switch places?” Suggests Dag, and then elaborates after Sigurd looks at him with a truly disturbed expression on his face “You know, you can step out for a piss, and I’ll step in, all dressed as you, and do the act myself.”

The idea is so ridiculous. So outrageous in every level imaginable – not least of all because him and Dag look absolutely nothing alike – That Sigurd bursts out laughing and needs a solid ten minutes before he can even begin to gain control of himself. It’s only fear of waking Eivor that helps to curb his laughter in the first place. The last thing he wants is for Eivor to know he's scared of having sex with a woman. He could almost picture the disappointment in the other man's face. He thinks he's even more scared of that then the actual "sex" part.

“It’s only a suggestion” Dag says, mulishly.

“And not a bad one!” Sigurd lies, “Only, I wouldn’t wish to trick Randvi in such a way.”

This seems to appease Dag well enough, and they sit in silence for a while before he speaks again.

“I’ve seen you cleave men in two, holding a great-sword in one hand. You can handle this, Sigurd.” He says, somberly.

And he does manage to comfort Sigurd this time. Oddly enough. The thought that this is just another battle. One of a different sort, but a battle none-the-less.

And Sigurd has won many battles. He can win this one too.

“You’re right Dag. Thank you for the supportive words.”

But the Ice begins to splinter, slowly and surely.

\----------------------

He’s staring at Randvi, naked and splayed across his bed, slowly bringing a hand between her spread legs.

He realizes, with a shock, that she is wet. That she wants this. Somehow. Wants him.

He wants to believe he could want her too. Does want her in a way, and it’s that thought he tries to hold. He thinks of all the things about her he finds appealing. How she can climb almost any surface. How he’s seen her wield a bow with enough precision too shoot a bird flying through the sky. How effortlessly she can swim through water, regardless of the amount of armour she wears.

But his dick remains soft and uninterested. Resting against his thigh.

Something must show on his face. Some fear or panic maybe, because the next second, She’s there. Hands brushing through his hair, caressing his face. Her comfort is appreciated, and Sigurd closes his eyes and leans into her. Takes in her smell and tries to feel something.

Her hand reaches for his cock, strokes him gently, at first, then harder after he twitches in her palm. He keeps his eyes closed. He’s ashamed at the thought, but a hand is a hand, and a man’s hand could feel just the same.

It’s the thought of a man stroking him that finally gets his cock to harden. The thought of a man holding him. Whispering sweet nothings in his ear. A gravelly, rough voice Sigurd could recognize anywhere.

When he’s finally hard and beginning to wet at the tip. Randvi falls back to the bed. On her hands and knees this time.

“It’s alright” she whispers, gently. “You can think I’m someone else if you need to”

And they both ignore the tremble in her voice.

He won’t penetrate her. Doesn’t want to do that to either of them, but he takes his dick in hand and strokes himself behind her in rough, quick movements. She catches on quick and brings one of her hands between her legs. Inserts two fingers into herself and pumps.

It’s not the traditional consummation Sigurd is sure is expected of him, But it feels good and he’s enjoying himself enough. It will do.

It will have to.

He can hear Randvi’s gentle moans, and it helps. He’s happy she’s getting something from this, that she too is enjoying it. Even if it’s not what she expected either.

But he doesn’t want to drag this out too long. Scared that whatever passion has finally come over him won’t last. He looks down and hair that was once red, is now a pale blonde to his traitorous mind.

Sigurd is too desperate. He gives into his thoughts. He gives into his need. Sees Eivor in front him, supple and beautiful on hands and knees. Muscles flexing. He hears his name spoken in that alluring, rough voice.

“Sigurd...”

He comes with a loud moan. Seed covering Randvi’s back as she collapses, panting, on the bed. She must have found her own release while Sigurd was lost in his thoughts, and he’s glad for her.

He leans back, legs coming off the bed as he moves to sit at the edge of it, tries to deal with the storm of emotions going through him. Partially relief that he’s managed to do what is expected of him, and the other part, a cloying sickness in his belly as he considers he did it while imaging a man. A man who he should think of as his brother.

Randvi is by his side again, as gentle and loving as ever. “shh, shhh. Sigurd, it’s alright. It’s alright. You’ve done well.” she says, stroking his back.

And he realizes, with a shock, that’s he’s crying.

He breaks. Silent but powerful, head in his hands. All his pent up emotions bursting forth like water from a broken damn. Randvi holds him through it, and eventually they fall asleep in each others arms.

The Ice shatters for a third time.

\----------------------

In the morning, he tells Randvi that he won’t lay with her again. He wants to explain his reasons to her but he’s so wrung out from last night, he can’t find the strength to do so. Instead he tells her, with all the sincerity that he can muster, that she is perfectly welcome to take any other lover she wishes to her bed. That Sigurd will happily support her.

He doesn’t explain, but he thinks she understands anyway. She smiles sadly as he takes her head in his hands and plants a kiss on her forehead.

He doesn’t see Eivor in the morning, and he’s too grateful to question it.

He honestly doesn’t think he can handle seeing the man right now. Sigurd feels as if he’s drowning in guilt.

The Ice is an ocean. Threatening to sweep him away.

\----------------------

A year later and Sigurd is about to set off for another raid.

Eivor is there, begging and pleading to come with him. They both know this time, Sigurd won’t just be gone for a week or two. Sigurd looks at Eivor, really looks at him, and almost gives in. His heart is so full of love for the other man, he would do anything for him.

But it’s a love he shouldn’t feel, and it’s partially why he’s taking this voyage in the first place.

He hasn’t been in agreement with his father in a long time, but he’s unspeakably grateful that Styrbjorn has explicitly forbidden Eivor from following Sigurd.

“My little bird” he says “You know I would give anything to have you by my side.” And it’s the truth, even if the way Sigurd wants Eivor isn’t the same way the other man wants him. “But Kjotve’s forces are ever looming, and with both of us gone, the settlement would be too weak. I need you to stay. I need you to keep everyone safe.”

Eivor looks distraught, but resigned. His throat bobs as if there is a lump lodged within it, as if he's about to cry, and without thinking, Sigurd takes Eivor’s head in his hands and kisses him on the forehead. Just like he had Randvi, all those many moons ago.

Eivor is left shocked, but before he can truly react. Sigurd is fleeing. Not afraid to admit he’s a coward.

Dag finds him later, just before he’s about to set off.

“I understand keeping Eivor here, but me? Why must I stay? I am just as strong. No. Stronger then him! Take me with you Sigurd”

And in this, Sigurd doesn’t hesitate.

“No Dag. I need you here. Eivor hungers for Kjotve’s blood, and I’m worried he’ll try to take it before he’s ready.”

He places a hand on Dag’s shoulder “You _are_ one of the strongest warriors I know Dag. I need you too look out for him. Make sure he stays safe.”

Dag looks only slightly less frustrated. “Very well, I will look after the whelp, but he doesn’t deserve this compassion, Sigurd. His blood-thirst is his own problem.”

He doesn’t deserve you. Dag doesn’t say, but Sigurd hears it anyway.

“Just look out for him Dag. Please. For me?”

He can see the Ice in the distance. Just the tip of it, peaking above the water.

\---------------------

He’s back at the docks at Fornburg and his heart is soaring through his chest.

Eivor is by his side, telling him heartfelt words of love. How he will stay with Sigurd now. Follow him even as far as Valhalla.  
And Sigurd can almost believe Eivor means a different kind of love. The love Sigurd has.

And he’s just about to confess. To take his rapidly beating heart from his chest and hold it out to Eivor. “Make of it what you will.” He would say.

....

But he doesn’t. They’re set to leave Norway on the morrow. To leave the only home either of them has ever known, And venture into new, strange lands.

Eivor has never voyaged like Sigurd has, and he’ll need his wits about him in the coming weeks.

So Sigurd says nothing. But he smiles at Eivor, big and bright, and he hopes that’s enough.

He thinks about leaving Fornburg behind. Leaving all the pain and suffering, and the growing expectations placed upon him by his father. Expectations to be a man he could never truly be.

He thinks about starting new, building himself up again. No betrothals. No marriages, just him and Eivor. Jarls together, ruling side by side.

Randvi supporting them like Sigurd has always known her to. Strong and sure.

He thinks about all of it and, while staring out into the ocean, takes Eivor’s hand.

The Ice has almost completely reset it’s shape.

\---------------------

He’s standing beside Ubba, watching as Eivor and Ivarr drink some distance away.

“Careful with your heart. Lest someone see it and rip it from your chest.”

He looks at Ubba, eyes wide and startled. But Ubba’s face is turned toward Eivor.

“We’re not really brothers.” is all he can think to say. Stupid. Stupid!

Ubba laughs. “That much is obvious, with the way you two act around each other.” This time Ubba does look at him “I’ve never seen two brothers behave in such a manner.”

“What does that mean?” Sigurd could understand if Ubba was talking about him. He has lost himself in his love for Eivor once or twice, But Eivor has been nothing but brotherly.

“Like I said, be careful with your heart.” with a pat on Sigurd’s shoulder he walks away.

The Ice is whole and unblemished. Shining in the sun.

\---------------------

He’s lost track of time. He’s lost track of himself. All he knows is pain, and this mad woman, and the man who is him but not him.

He tries to think of Eivor. He doesn’t even pretend not to love him anymore. Not here. Not to himself. In this wretched place, he’ll take any happiness he can get.

But Fulke’s words are almost as bad as her tools of torture.

“He won’t come for you.” She says. “He doesn’t love you.” She laughs

“He is disgusted by you.” She goads.

Disgusted, disgusted, disgusted.

No. He could never be. We are brothers!

“Are you? Do you think you deserve him? Really? Someone like you?”

Disgusted.

He loves me!

But not the way you want him to love you.

Not the way you crave him to love you.

Disgusted.

“He’s left you behind. He’s probably made himself Jarl by now. Your village doesn’t need you.”

Disgusted, digusted, disgusted.

The Ice is a jagged little thing. Slowly chipping away.

\---------------------

He’s back at Ravensthorpe and Dag is dead.

His best friend, the only person who truly knew him, all of him, and loved him. Accepted him.

And he’s dead.

Sigurd sees Eivor’s face and thinks,

Disgusted, disgusted, disgusted.

The ice is a monstrosity of sharp edges and cut corners. A piece of it missing that will never grow back.

\---------------------

Randvi is speaking to him but he can barely hear her from the blood rushing through his ears. He’s sitting on the edge of her bed, but he could be sitting on a rock in the middle of a snowy hill in Norway for how cold he feels. How chilled to the very bone.

“You...you and Eivor?”

Disgusted, disgusted.

“Yes, I tried, Sigurd, I really did, but my heart...”

“And Eivor...Eivor he-With you?”

Sigurd can’t even form the words. Can’t even see straight. He didn’t think he could feel such pain. Even after all the things Fulke did to him. He wishes he could pull his heart straight from his chest only, it seems, the two people he loves most have done the job for him.

Two people.

The third is dead.

Careful with your heart. Lest someone see it and rip it from your chest.

The Ice is cracking, breaking, _screaming_.

Disgusted.

“What? No he refused. Sigurd are you even _l_ _istening_ to---” But her words cut off, and Sigurd finally brings himself to focus, to see her. Just in time to witness the dawning realization on her face.

“You’re in love with him.” She says.

Disgusted.

“You were always in love with him.” She says.

Disgusted.

“Back on the day of our wedding when we...Oh Gods!” She says.

Disgusted, disgusted, disg--

There are arms wrapping around him. The warmth of someone's body. He’s being held. He’s being loved.

Randvi lifts her face to his and she’s crying. Big wet tears hitting the fur of his cloak. She’s an absolute sobbing mess.

“Oh Sigurd, I had no idea. You have to believe me.” And she’s somehow crying even harder. “You said I could take any lover I wanted, you said you would support me, and I thought. I thought.”

She pulls away from him, so quick and sudden, he almost loses his balance.

“But nothing happened between us. Sigurd, nothing. He doesn’t love me back. He sees me as just a friend. He said so himself.”

She’s shaking, and then she’s holding his arms and shaking him. As if she’s trying to shake her words into him.

“Randvi. Randvi stop!”

She stops

“It’s ok. Randvi. It’s ok. I believe you. I believe you.” She calms. Drops down beside him on the edge of the bed, like a sack of potatoes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” he says. He means it.

This is all his fault. He’s the one who fell in love with someone he shouldn’t have. He completely understands how Randvi could grow infatuated with Eivor. It’s the one part of all this that makes sense.

Slowly, as if she’s dealing with a cornered animal – Which, if Sigurd is being honest with himself, isn’t far from the truth – Randvi takes his hand.

“You have held this secret in your heart for so long Sigurd. I’m sorry you had to deal with it alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t supportive enough as to allow you to come to me with it.”

“What?” He turns his head to face her, a sharp, sudden motion. “No, Randvi, there is nothing you could have done better. You were perfect. You _are_ perfect. It’s me. Randvi. I’m the one in love with my own brother for fuck’s sake.” It's the first time he's said the words out loud. He realizes. He's too empty to be scared.

Sigurd feels Randvi’s hand tighten on his, and he takes a breath. Calms himself a little.

“Besides. I wasn’t completely alone. Dag knew. Almost from the start.”

“I see” Randvi smiles at that, small, and watery. “Then I’m glad you had such a strong drengr to depend on.”

They sit in silence for a little while. Just holding each other’s hands. As Sigurd allows himself to be comforted. To be supported.

“...He’s not _really_ your brother though so....”

“Randvi...”

A new block of Ice begins to form, in the dusty remains of the old. Smooth, and unblemished, but strong.

\---------------------

Time passes at a sluggish blur. Sigurd’s mind is a mess of things he’s barely beginning to understand.

On his next visit to Dag’s grave, Sigurd sees an extra bundle of flowers, and he knows, right away, that Randvi put them there.

The Ice grows.

\---------------------

“But I mean, really. I don’t see what the big deal is. You’re not Brothers.”

“Randvi...”

\---------------------

Ubba comes by a week later. Sigurd has been reserved and quiet. Keeping to himself. Trying to sort out all the thoughts running through his head.

“How’s you’re heart?” Ubba asks, after his business with Eivor has concluded, and they’ve watched the other man walk away, a last, woeful look cast at Sigurd.

Like a puppy kicked.

“Beating” Sigurd says. “How is yours?” He asks back. Partially to be snarky, and partially from actual concern. It’s been a long time since he’s seen the man last.

“Broken” Ubba says, honest and tired. “Ivarr was a mess of a handful but I miss him like I would miss the breath from my lungs.”

He’s heard about Ivarr. Heard what he did, then what Eivor did back. He tries to feel sympathetic but can’t. As far as he’s concerned, Ivarr got exactly what he deserved.

“I’m sorry for your loss” Is what he says though. And it’s heartfelt and genuine. Ivarr got exactly what he deserved. Ubba didn’t.

Ubba nods in acknowledgement.

“You know...” Ubba starts, and Sigurd prepares himself for the worst. “When I said to be careful with your heart, I didn’t mean hold it away from the person you want to give it to.”

“He doesn’t want it.” Sigurd says. Not like that.

“Are you sure about that?”

The Ice continues to grow. Building, layer by layer.

\---------------------

He knows who the strange man is. The one who looks like him. Tyr.

Just as he now knows that Odin and Eivor are also one and the same.

In a way. But no.

The same but different.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with this information. He knows he is something bigger. Something not human. “God” is the word he’s used, but he’s not actually sure. It’s the only word he knows to describe it, but what does being a God actually mean anyway? What does it change?

Does Eivor know?

Should he tell him?

Standing at the docks, looking out into the river, Randvi’s face appears, unbidden, in his thoughts.

No. Not that. Telling him that won’t solve anything.

He sees Tyr’s face staring back at him, from the reflection of the river.

“Yes it will.” he says.

But Sigurd doesn’t know how it could.

\---------------------

More times passes. He sees Tyr a lot more often now. Fulke’s doing, he supposes.

Lose a hand. Gain a...God. Or something.

Tyr’s trying to warn him of something. A danger of some sort. A third man. Hair short and black. He’s draped in red but he’s got his back to Sigurd. Sigurd can’t see his face.

“Loki” Tyr supplies, like that would actually mean much to Sigurd right now.

“Odin” Tyr says, and Sigurd is confused until he sees the man himself, appear.

Or is it Eivor.

Sigurd can’t tell.

He’s bleeding from his side.

Sigurd wakes up.

\---------------------

“I really think you should tell him Sigurd. He’ll understand, I know he will”

“ _Randvi_ ”

\---------------------

He sees Basim around. Can feel the man watching him, but when he turns to look, Basim’s eyes are elsewhere.

He’s even more quiet then usual, and Sigurd doesn’t know if it’s to do with him or not.

He doesn’t understand the man anymore. Maybe he’s never really understood him. Maybe his own troubled thoughts are clouding his judgment.

He rarely talks to Basim but when he does, he can’t help the feeling that there’s something else there. A secret he is hiding or...

Some days it feels like Basim completely changes personalities.

Some days it feels like Basim looks at him, and unravels every secret he’s ever kept.

This feeling isn’t new, but it’s especially unnerving coming from a man Sigurd barely knows.

“you know...” Basim says, at the docks one day.

“If you told him, I think he wo...nevermind.” He suddenly cuts off and is away before Sigurd can get a word in.

Tyr stares back at him from the river’s surface.

The Ice is big and smooth. A rectangular block, shining in the sun.

\---------------------

He dreams of a door. Impossibly large and encased in stone.

He dreams of foreign words that he shouldn’t understand but does.

He dreams of Tyr and Odin tangled in a passion of naked limbs.

Or is that him and Eivor?

\---------------------

He wakes up hard as a rock and frustrated.

\---------------------

He sitting on a stone slab by that very same door when he finally confesses his love, his real love, To Eivor.

He’s so tired and desperate after everything that has happened. After yet another betrayal – Basim this time, and the fact that it’s Eivor who suffers a wound from this particular, traitorous act, makes it cut all the deeper in Sigurd – That he just needs something to give, and his heart might just have to be the thing that does it.

He’s got a plan. Or well, the footprints of one anyway. He’s still got something of a life left here in Norway. His father is still here. He could reconcile, maybe. He could start fresh.

And though it feels like he’s running back with his tail between his legs, waiting for people he has no intention of forgiving, to accept him back in their arms.

Though it feels like a debasing.

He would do it. If it’s what Eivor wants. If it means he could keep the other man, in some way. Even if that way is with miles of water between them, and the fractured shards of their relationship at his feet. At least Eivor could still think of him with some level of fondness. He hopes.

He hopes Randvi can forgive him.

The Ices shudders.

\---------------------

He’s crouched on the ground at Eivor’s side, still by that same giant door, when Eivor looks up at him and confesses his love back.

Confesses how he’s never been able to see Sigurd as a brother.

Sigurd remembers holding a crying Eivor as he screams

"Never. Never. Never. Never!"

And Sigurd thinks. Stupid.

Sigurd remembers a child Eivor being so frustrated that he and Sigurd weren’t betrothed themselves and thinks. So stupid!

Sigurd remembers all the moments Eivor avoided him after he had spent significant time with Randvi and thinks. You are such a fucking moron!

Sigurd thinks of all the times Randvi, and Ubba and Tyr, and even goddamn Basim had tried to tell him. To push him in the right direction.

And he takes Eivor’s face in his hand and kisses him with everything he has.

And it feels like Valhalla.

The Ice towers above him, casting a magical illusion over everything he sees.

\---------------------

He dreams of Tyr again, and that large door.

He can’t see Odin, but he knows the God lies beyond it.

Tyr gives him a last look. A smile, full of pride and love, then he turns and goes through the door.

Sigurd knows it’s goodbye. He’s not going to see Tyr again.

\---------------------

He wakes with wet eyes and a heavy heart.

“What’s wrong, Sigurd” comes Eivor’s voice, groggy and thick with sleep, but concerned.

They’re camped back in Eivor’s old house, In Fornburg, Norway. Resting just for a little while, While Eivor’s injury heals. The bed is small, but Eivor is here, and thus, it would take Ragnorok to make Sigurd leave it.

Sigurd lays back down, wrapping his arms around Eivor, and burying his face in the other man’s chest. Being careful of his injury.

“I’m so happy we found each other again” He says.

Eivor shouldn’t understand what he means, but he does. “Me too” comes his reply, before the both of them fall back asleep.

The Ice is big and strong, carving itself into a new shape.

\---------------------

They’re walking through Ravensthorpe, taking the path leading up to the longhouse. Sigurd is indulging himself by latching onto Eivor’s side and taking his weight. Though he knows Eivor’s injury is no longer bad enough to need it.

He suspects Eivor knows this as well.

He holds him anyway.

He looks up and see’s Randvi. Her face a mix of emotions, but she knows. Sigurd can tell she knows. He smiles at her and it feels like the sun itself is trying to shine through his teeth.

She smiles at him and it feels like “I told you so.”

The Ice is shaped like a heart. Intricate and beautiful.

\---------------------

He severs his marriage to Randvi and it tastes like freedom. Not from her, but from the man he was pretending to be.

It feels like wings spreading from his back. Big and bright and ready to take him to the skies.

He severs his marriage to Randvi and it feels like he’s setting her free too. He cant wait to meet her future lover.

He’ll tease her mercilessly.

His heart of Ice sings. It looks like it could be beating. Strong and sure.

\---------------------

He’s naked on his back and Eivor bounces above him, sweaty and deliciously warm around his cock.

It is the most glorious sight that Sigurd has ever laid eyes on. Like he’s staring at a God.

In a way he is, he supposes.

Eivor has always been stunning, but now, in the throws of pleasure, Sigurd’s cock slipping in and out of him effortlessly, he looks breathtaking.

And Sigurd will never tire of this. They’ve taken each other countless times now, and it's just as amazing this time as it was the first.

He’s holding Eivor’s hip in a grip strong enough to bruise, and he can’t wait to see the marks. Thinks they'll pair well with all the ones currently littered across his lover's chest.

“Sigurd.” Eivor breaths. He’s trembling with effort, but he bounces even harder. Taking Sigurd in deeper, somehow, then before.

Sigurd moans and angles his hips so he hits that spot he knows will make Eivor yell.

Sure enough, he’s keening, head thrown and back arched. Nipples, stiff pink nubs on his marked expanse of skin.

Sigurd thinks, one day he’ll tie Eivor down and just spend hours suckling at those nipples. Lapping at them with his tongue till Eivor is so lost in pleasure, he’ll go mindless from it.

Now he lifts his hips, plants his feet on the bed, and thrusts into Eivor even harder. Nailing that spot each time and Eivor practically screams.

“Touch yourself my love.” He says.

“I can’t. Sigurd, I’m so close. I’ll...” But he can’t finish the sentence. Another thrust has him moaning again, long and loud.

“Yes, My Dear.” Sigurd Moans with him. “I will have us reach our peak, together.”

Sigurd is so close himself, he actually wonders if he’ll release before Eivor can even think to move a hand to his own cock.

But he needn’t worry. As if Eivor was waiting for Sigurd’s permission, the second it was given, Eivor’s hand wraps around his cock, and on the first stroke, he spends his seed all over his and Sigurd’s chests.

Eivor’s constricting heat feels glorious, and Sigurd follows right after. finding his release in his lover’s pliant and waiting body. Vision whiting out briefly for how amazing it feels.

Later, he lies beside Eivor. Gently stroking his lover’s cheek. Eivor’s eyes are closed, but Sigurd can tell he’s still awake.

Sigurd thinks about traditions and his father.

He thinks about how all his life he was constantly betrothed. Leashed to people he never wanted to marry, and how, now that he’s found the person he does want to spend his life with, he can’t.

Then he thinks about how he and Eivor built this settlement from the ground up. How Eivor took care of it, raised it and nurtured it in Sigurd’s absence. How almost the entirety of England is in the palm of Eivor’s hand.

He thinks about how much Ravensthorpe owes to the two of them.

He thinks about how they are Odin and Tyr, reincarnated to walk this world again.

He thinks they can do anything they, damn-well, want.

“Marry me” He says.

“Yes” Eivor replies, instantly. Then kisses him.

The Ice has created a second shape. A raven curls around the heart.

\---------------------

He’s staring into the eyes of the man he loves most. Saying his vows in a voice that has never been so strong and sure.

Around them, the watery eyes of all the people they’ve met along their journey. Styrbjorn is there beside Randvi. She’s holding his arm like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Her eyes filled with so much joy, Sigurd can swear it can be felt all the way to Northumbria, and when Sigurd looks at his father, all he can see in his face is pride.

Sigurd isn’t sure he believes it, but he’s not one to question gifts.

The ice is perfect. Not a single flaw anywhere to be found.

\---------------------

They consummate their marriage and Sigurd doesn’t have to pretend he’s with someone else. Doesn’t have to imagine a man where a woman once was.

Coming together with Eivor is as easy as breathing.

The Ice turns it’s form into something even stronger.

\---------------------

Later, after feasts and drinking and celebrations fit for songs, they say goodbye to their friends, and watch as each ally sails back to their respective home.

Sigurd has now met all of them – each and every single one – and with Eivor at his side, he truly feels like he has a home, a place in this vast country of England.

Ubba is the last to leave. He gives Sigurd a hug so strong, Sigurd wonders if his lung might have punctured.

Sigurd knows his saga isn’t over. He’s still young and there’s much to do, but this chapter of it is done.

The Ice has turned to Crystal. Not nearly so easy to shatter.

\---------------------

There’s still one last part of England to conquer, and the order to be dealt with.

Eivor has been handling everything well on his own, so far, but Sigurd wants to be with him again. Wants to be at his side for every battle. Wants to be two Vikingr again, just like they once were.

Besides, now that he’s met all of England’s rulers, he doesn’t feel comfortable not fighting alongside them.

So a special shield gets fashioned for Sigurd's main arm. The one that’s missing it's hand.

Eivor trains tirelessly with him, fighting and sparing until he feels just as comfortable wielding his great-sword with his off hand as he once did with his dominant one.

They raid their first monastery together, since Sigurd’s injury, and then kiss in the burning rubble to the jeering of the longship crew.

He feels whole. More then whole. He feels like something beyond a man. He feels strong.

The Ice has turned to Diamond. It won’t shatter again.

**Author's Note:**

> I looked around but I couldn't find the name of Eivor's clan. Before he joined Sigurd's. It can't have been Raven, as that's Sigurd's clan. So I went with Wolf. I thought it was fitting. 
> 
> Randvi is not as sassy in this as in my past stories, but the tone here is more somber, and I didn't think it would fit.
> 
> This story goes hand in hand with "To Valhalla and Back" and "Making up for lost time" As in, it's in the same universe, just from Sigurd's perspective. You can read those other two if you want to look into Eivor's side of things a bit more.
> 
> Also Also, In my mind, Sigurd fights with Eivor during the last battle in England (The one after his part of the story is concluded) and having him there helps turn the tide and no one dies. The end.


End file.
